Safety Nets
by TheShunnedPrince
Summary: A glimpse into the emotional and physical recovery of Jack Thompson.


**Three Days After the Shooting:**

His alarm clock wouldn't stop ringing. Of course, that should have been perfectly normal because obviously it would continue to make noise until Jack woke up to turn it off. But the odd thing was that it didn't _sound_ like his alarm clock. He shifted in his bed, his arms rubbing against unfamiliar, stiff sheets. He must be in a hotel then.

"Jack? Are you awake?"

Someone was calling his name. A maid maybe? But no, this voice sounded strangely familiar. It was soft, and British, but also firm and grounding.

"Chief Thompson, can you hear me?"

 _Chief._ There was only one woman in the world who would call him that. But why would Peggy Carter be in his hotel room? His eyes were heavy and he struggled to open them. When he did, he saw Carter and Sousa staring down at him like he was some sort of miracle, both with matching white halos around their heads. He realized he was _not_ in a hotel room, and that the sound he had mistaken for his alarm clock was actually the steady beeping of a heart monitor. A hospital.

"Am I dead?" he asked, only to find that his voice was a hoarse whisper. He tried to suck in a breath but there was a weight on his chest, and then a sharp pain. His sigh turned into a coughing fit; every breath he took felt like a cat clawing at his throat. Before he knew what was happening, a glass of water was being shoved under his nose. His fingers wrapped around it, gripping it loosely. Someone sighed in frustration, yanking the cup from his hands, and then Jack Thompson, head of the New York SSR, was being fed water by Agent Carter like he was some newborn baby.

When he was done, he sat back against the pillows, amazed at how such a simple task could make him so exhausted. Looking back up at the both of them, he realized they had matching circles under their eyes and the look of people who hadn't showered in days. He wondered vaguely if their disheveled appearances were out of worry for him, but then instantly dismissed the thought. He saw no obvious reason why they should care so much after he had betrayed the both of them.

"How do you feel, Jack?" Sousa asked.

"Peachy," Jack growled, causing both Daniel and Peggy to roll their eyes.

"Do you remember what happened?" Peggy asked, sitting down in the chair next to his bed. He hated the way she talked to him. It was as if she thought he was made of glass. But some part of him knew he couldn't really blame her.

"I was in my hotel room," Jack said, absently fingering the bandages across his chest, "and then somebody shot me."

"Did you see the shooter?" Sousa asked, his face anxious.

"No, I was too busy bleeding out onto the carpet," Jack snapped. Sousa stared at him in horror while Peggy went pale, causing Jack to raise his eyebrows.

"Do you have any idea how close you were to dying, Jack?" Sousa asked, his voice dangerously soft.

Shifting uncomfortably in his bed, Jack said, "No."

"You spent ten hours in surgery, your heart stopped twice, and two days ago they weren't even sure you would ever wake up," Peggy said. The tremble in her voice unnerved him more than the news she was delivering.

"Oh," he said. And then the drugs must have been affecting his brain because the next second he blurted out, "Why do you guys care so much?"

Peggy looked torn between laughing hysterically and slapping him, while Sousa just buried his face in his hands. "Because you may be an utter wanker, but you're our friend," Peggy said.

"Oh," Jack said again, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence.

After that, Sousa went to get a nurse while Carter asked him routine questions.

"We've searched the room but nothing appears to be missing," she said, "It would be helpful if you could give us a list of all the items you brought with you to California."

Wearily, he went through the list, trying not to falter as the room swam before his eyes. The pain in his chest had magnified to a throbbing ache, and he didn't even remember closing his eyes until Peggy was suddenly tapping his cheek while worriedly calling his name.

"The file," he said, his eyes snapping open.

"What?"

"The M. Carter file. Was it there?" he asked.

Peggy shuffled through the papers on her lap, squinting at the words. "None of our agents found a file in your luggage, but we can look again."

But Jack's mind was already spiralling, the pieces falling together. He shakily dropped his face into his hands, shame mingling with the pain. Peggy was calling his name again, but when he finally lifted his face up, black spots were dancing in his vision.

"We'll figure this out, Jack," Peggy was saying. It was the last thing he heard before he lost consciousness, and was surprised to find that he actually believed her.

 **One Week After the Shooting:**

Jack tapped his fingers anxiously on the bed sheets, straining his eyes to catch a glimpse of Sousa walking through the door. He had spent several wasted hours trying to convince the nurses that he was ready to be let go from the hospital, only to have his legs buckle beneath him when he tried climbing out of bed. His chest was sore, and they were pumping him with a double dose of morphine and god knows what else to numb the pain. As a result, he was hungry, irritable, and had absolutely no control over his mouth, all of which were driving him insane.

Finally, the door opened and Sousa walked in, his cheeks red and hands empty except for a thick file.

"You didn't bring dinner?" Jack whined. Sousa gave Jack his classic 'lost puppy' look before ultimately rolling his eyes.

"Last time I brought you food, you threw it up on my shoes."

"If I remember correctly, those shoes were a danger to society _before_ they were covered in my puke," Jack shot back, winking at Sousa.

"Fine," Sousa sighed, "I'll get you a sandwich."

"Where's Carter? Jack asked, looking over Sousa's shoulder. They usually came together to check on him, though he had absolutely no idea why. He was almost always snapping at them and taking out his frustrations as they updated him on what was going on in the office. He couldn't figure out why they kept coming back.

"I sent her home to rest. She's been constantly running around trying to find your assassin."

Sousa's tone was not accusatory, but Jack couldn't stop the guilt from seeping. Still, he didn't miss the fact that Peggy actually _listened_ to Daniel and went home. Jack knew better than anyone that nobody could make Peggy Carter do anything she didn't want to do.

"So, are you and Carter an item now?" Jack asked, struggling to keep his tone casual. Sousa dropped the file he was holding, his cheeks flushing a bright red. Jack watched with a smirk as he muttered something about getting them food and left hastily. Jack couldn't help but think that was as good of an answer he would ever get.

Jack was starving enough that he fully intended to fight his fatigue until Sousa returned, but he must have fallen asleep because he woke up in a nightmare.

He was in Okinawa, digging a hole to bury the white flag. His fingers bled as he scraped silently at the dirt, his eyes filled with the ghosts of tears he would never be able to shed. His breath coming in short pants, Jack threw down the flag and began covering it back up when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Gasping, he turned around to find Peggy Carter standing behind him.

"You're so afraid of ruffling powerful feathers that you're doing what you always do…Burying an ugly truth and hoping someone will pin a medal on you," she said, looking him dead in they eye. He stared at her, wide eyed, until she and his surroundings disappeared. And then he was back in the New York office of the SSR with Chief Dooley standing in front of him wearing a familiar glowing vest.

" _You_ deserve to be wearing this vest," Dooley growled at him. "You're a coward, Jack Thompson."

"I know," Jack said, looking down at the floor. And then Dooley was running, firing his gun until he crashed through the window and fell ten stories below, exploding in a ball of fire.

Then everything dissolved and reappeared, placing him in a quiet bar with a drink in his hands. He remembered this night clearly. Any minute now, Vernon Masters would walk through the door, offering Jack a job at the SSR. Sure enough, Jack felt a hand grip the back on his neck and he turned around to Vernon looking at him like he was a piece of meat.

"Go away," Jack mumbled.

"I'll always be in your head, Jackie," Vernon whispered, and then he and the bar were gone.

Jack stood alone on an empty battlefield littered with dead bodies. The sun was setting, and flies were gathering around the deceased, filling the air with a predatory buzzing. The stench hit Jack's nose as he wandered among the corpses, wishing nothing more than to disappear. He was heading toward the woods when a hand grabbed him around the ankle. Letting out a cry, he looked down to find Carter lying there, blood staining her chest and dripping from her mouth.

"This is _your_ fault," she choked. Jack opened his mouth to protest, but then someone grabbed his other ankle, the grip tight and unforgiving.

"You'll pay for this, Jack." It was Sousa, his leg blown off and crutch nowhere in sight.

"I'm sorry," Jack whispered. He had repeated those two words in an endless loop in his head but had never found the strength to say them out loud. They felt strangely freeing, but deep down he knew they could never fix what he had done. Sure enough, both Peggy and Sousa wore identical expressions of disgust as they grabbed his arms and pulled him to the ground, holding him down as they clawed at his face.

Jack woke up screaming and struggling against the hands wrapped around his wrists. He could hear Sousa calling his name, but he couldn't stop picturing both Daniel and Peggy lying dead on the field, blood pouring from their fatal wounds. He screamed louder, ignoring how the noise was tearing at his throat.

Opening his eyes, he could _see_ Sousa's face in front of him, but it was like he and Daniel were separated by a glass wall, unable to reach each other. But then Sousa shattered it, and Jack felt a sting on his cheek. Somewhere in his mangled mind, he realized Sousa had _slapped_ him, and it offended him enough that it broke him out of whatever trance he was in. He stopped screaming and slumped, exhausted, into himself, staring at Sousa's terrified face.

If the situation had been any different, Jack would have told Sousa to fuck off and go home. He might have even threatened Daniel to make sure this whole incident was kept quiet. But Jack was done burying things. He would later blame it on the drugs, but right now he couldn't see the point in hiding behind the wall he had built around himself.

Letting out a breath, he gracelessly leaned forward until his face was resting on Sousa's shoulder. His eyes prickled, and by this time it felt so relieved to just be able to _cry_ , to know he was a human being who was capable of feeling anything other than a black numbness. He hung on to the back of Daniel's sweater like it was a life line, and let the sobs wrack his body. Unsurprisingly, it hurt to cry, every spasm jostling the stitches over his injury, but Jack welcomed the pain, almost hysterically happy he could feel it in the first place.

He felt Daniel stiffen with surprise, but then gradually felt Daniel's arms go around him, holding Jack in an awkward, but protective embrace. They stayed like that for a good while, Daniel gently rocking Jack back and forth as his tears stained Sousa's shirt. Slowly, the sobs turned to miserable sniffles, and the tears stopped flowing, but Jack couldn't find the energy to lift his face off of Daniel's shoulder. He felt painfully weak, the drugs leaving him an emotional wreck. Or maybe he was always this way, but right now he couldn't tell. He knew that in the morning both of them would pretend this had never happened, but for now Jack just let his eyes close as Sousa stroked his hair. And he must have fallen asleep again, because he couldn't remember anything after that.

The next morning came with a glaring neck cramp. Jack's eyes felt heavier than usual when he opened them to the window letting in the obscenely bright California sun. God, he hated this city. Turning over, he came face to face with Daniel, curled up uncomfortably in the hard chair, balancing a file on his lap.

"Hey," Sousa said after noticing Jack was awake.

"Hey," Jack returned, his eyes looking everywhere but Sousa's face. There was a long silence, heavy with words unsaid.

"Do you want a coffee?" Sousa asked finally.

"Sure," Jack said, letting out a sigh of relief when Sousa finally left the room. He picked aimlessly at a loose thread hanging off the blanket, wondering if he could have ever done what Sousa did for him if the situation had been reversed. He would like to think that he wouldn't hesitate to help a friend, but he had stopped thinking of himself as _that_ kind of person a long time ago. He realized that Peggy Carter still thought of him as a good man, but then again, Peggy was always crazy.

But were he and Sousa even friends in the first place? Carter seemed to think so, but Jack wasn't so sure. He regretted the things he'd said to Sousa, and wondered if it was too late to apologise. For a brief moment, he considered telling Sousa about Okinawa, but instantly dismissed the thought. There was a lot they had to fix between them before their relationship reached that level.

So when Sousa stumbled back into the room holding two steaming cups of coffee, Jack decided to take a leap of faith. "Thank you for what you did last night," he said softly.

Jack had to resist laughing out loud when Sousa almost dropped the coffee. Hastily setting the cups down on the table, Sousa stared at him long enough to have Jack twitching under the scrutiny.

"Anytime," Sousa said finally.

Jack thought that was an odd response, but it seemed genuine enough. He and Sousa both grabbed their coffee off the table and sat, sipping from their cups in a surprisingly comfortable silence. Jack knew their relationship was far from fixed, but this was a start. And that was good enough for now.

 **15 Days After the Shooting:**

Jack was deemed okay to leave the hospital, but to his frustration, he was still medically suspended from active duty for at least another month. When Carter and Sousa had delivered the news, Jack had to resist the urge to strangle the both of them. The fact that Peggy had been smiling smugly did nothing to help his anger.

"I suppose that means you'll be staying in Los Angeles?" she had asked, and then immediately offered him a place at the Stark mansion.

"No way, Carter," he had said, "I'm done with anything 'Stark'."

She had simply shrugged , and then kindly offered to help him find a suitable hotel, which immediately made him suspect she had some ulterior motive. Deciding the only way to find out what she was planning was to act oblivious, he decided to go along. And now they were here, checking into one of the fancier hotels in Los Angeles. But of course, the elevator was out of order, so they had to take the stairs up to the fourth floor.

"For the last time, Marge, I can carry my own suitcase," Jack snapped. He was never going to admit that just walking up four flights of stairs _without_ any luggage was going to be like climbing a mountain. And on top of that, the hospital staff had given him a goddamn _cane_ to help him walk like he was an 80 year old man.

"Alright," Peggy said, handing him his bag. Smirking at her, he grabbed it and began his way up the stairs.

He didn't even make it one flight before he collapsed.

"Are you alright?" Peggy asked, poking his chest to see if he had popped any stitches.

Slapping her hands away, he muttered, "Aces." When she raised her eyebrows at him, he said, "Shut up."

"Now, is that any way to talk to a lady?" Peggy said, her voice high with mock hurt. Jack just rolled his eyes, ignored her helping hand, and pulled himself up using the banister. Peggy looked ready to whack him across the face, but instead she just smiled knowingly and carried his suitcase all the way up to his room.

He arrived at the landing panting and dizzy, the floor moving in circles. Shaking his head to clear it, he entered the room. Peggy had already placed his bag on the bed and was scouring the space for any possible weak points, giving Jack a painful reminder that they still had not caught the assassin after him.

The room, like his last one, was a dull gray color, the carpet white and matted. He stared at it for several moments, remembering the way his blood stained it red. As he slowly looked up, he could see the new room transforming into his old one: his suitcase lying open with the M. Carter file on top for the taking, the phone on which he had been talking to Sousa seconds before the bullet had entered his body. He could almost hear the pounding on the door before he innocently opened it to find a gun pointed at his face. His healing wound twitched with the memory of blinding, white hot pain blooming across his chest, and the feel of his cheek hitting the ground. He remembered blacking out, and then waking up to the terrified screams of the maid who had found him. And suddenly, Jack couldn't breath.

The world tilted and he grabbed the wall for support, his breaths coming in short pants. It felt like someone was pressing down on his lungs, squeezing his throat and blocking off his air supply. He told himself desperately to calm down, but his brain could only focus on the lack of oxygen filling his lungs and he began to panic, his inhales turning into a miserable wheeze. He gripped his cane so tight, the tips of his fingers turned white, and he couldn't hear anything except the blood pounding in his ears. Black spots clouded his vision and suddenly passing out didn't seem like such a bad idea.

But then Peggy Carter grabbed his arm in an iron grip and was dragging him out onto the room's cramped balcony. The fresh air hit him like a slap to the face, worming its way into his nose and down to his lungs. He managed to take a deep breath, and then another one after that. It took him a good few minutes, but he finally managed to get his breathing under control.

Exhausted, he leaned his head on the railing, focusing on the way Carter was gently rubbing circles on his back. Neither of them spoke for a while, both somewhat content in their current positions. Jack closed his eyes and let the wind run its hands through his hair.

"So I suppose you _will_ be staying at the Stark mansion after all," Peggy said finally.

"What?" Jack choked, looking up at her like she had two heads.

"Well, it's obvious you don't feel safe staying in another hotel," she said, shrugging like the decision had already been made.

"I'm _fine_ staying in a hotel, Carter," Jack said, straightening up to look her in they eye.

"Oh please, Jack, you just had a panic attack."

"Well believe it or not, this ain't my first rodeo," he said, and then instantly regretted it. He had meant to sound experienced in dealing with his problems, but the look Peggy gave him made it clear he had just added another point to her case.

"Do you really want us to waste the few agents we have left to guard you when there is already a perfectly secure place for you to stay?

"Somehow, I doubt Stark's butler and his wife would just let me waltz in there after I threatened them with deportation," Jack said, pointedly ignoring Peggy's point. Unfortunately, Peggy had always been able to read him like a book.

"You were just doing your job," she said gently, "They can both understand that much."

Jack sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked out over the sprawling city below, filled with palm trees and bathed in sunshine despite it being close to winter. He just wanted to go back to the gloomy skies and towering buildings of New York.

"Fine, I'll stay at Stark's," Jack grumbled, "But you better not tell anyone why I changed my mind."

Peggy's smile was brighter than the Los Angeles sun. "Not even Daniel?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's not like I can stop you," Jack said, rolling his eyes, "You two have got to be the most disgusting couple in California."

"Why thank you," Peggy said, "We try our best."

And though Jack complained the whole ride to the mansion, he couldn't help but feel safer already.

 **One Month After the Shooting:**

Jack sat in a beach chair, sipping bourbon at the side of Stark's pool. The sun was setting, causing the scene to glow a soft pink. Carter and Sousa were across from him, Peggy practically sitting in Daniel's lap as they poured over a file together. Jack desperately wanted to go see what they were working on, but the last time he had attempted to "meddle with their work", Peggy had threatened to "snog Daniel senseless" until Jack left them alone. Daniel had obviously been on board with this plan, so to Sousa's disappointment, Jack had immediately left the two of them in peace.

He sighed and hastily pulled down the sleeves of his sweater as a breeze shook the trees. It wasn't exactly _cold_ , but Jack seemed to always be freezing these days. When he told Peggy this, she had immediately gone and gotten him this despicable, black, knitted...thing. It looked too big to be a blanket, much less a sweater, and though Jack had a sneaking suspicion it was one of Sousa's, he had kept it anyway. It was strangely comfortable, thought he would never tell Carter that.

By the door, the Jarvises were saying goodbye to Ella, their new Bernese mountain dog puppy, as they left to go see a film. Jack didn't know how they could do it. After Whitney Frost, he didn't think he would be watching anything Hollywood for a good while.

Ella bounded over toward Jack with her tail wagging, tripping over her oversized paws. With a bark, she launched herself onto Jack's lap, squirming for a moment before settling down for a nap. Jack sighed and pet her behind the ears. The dog had alarmed him at first, a large, multi-colored ball of energy coming at him with enough force to knock him off his feet (which she did). But it wasn't like Jack had much to do in the Stark mansion with Peggy and Sousa keeping him off his feet, so there seemed to be no harm in playing with the dog. And Ella was perfectly content to snuggly up next to Jack and do nothing else.

He didn't even know he was smiling until he caught Peggy staring at him with an amused expression. Jack flushed, and stopped petting Ella, who immediately whined for more attention. Sighing, Jack reluctantly put down his glass and scratched her cheeks. She seemed to smile and began to lick his face.

"Cut it out," he muttered, but made no move to stop her.

"You two seem to get along well." It was Peggy, who had, along with Daniel, crossed over to Jack's side of the pool.

"What can I say? The ladies love me," Jack said, smirking as Sousa rolled his eyes.

"Well, they say that dogs can sense the good in people," Peggy said, staring meaningfully at Jack.

"Real subtle, Carter."

Ella had jumped off of Jack's lap and was now purring like a cat as Sousa pet her. It made sense the two would love each other, seeing how Sousa was practically a puppy himself.

"So," Jack said, taking a sip from his glass, "When can I go back to work, Agent?"

"Technically you are free to head back to New York tomorrow," Peggy said, though she was still staring at him like she knew he would do the opposite.

Jack sighed and glanced down at Ella, her eyes closed and tail wagging with happiness. Ana Jarvis had asked if he could help train the dog, and Jack had no idea what to say. Mrs. Jarvis had just patted him on the arm and left with a mysterious "Think about it." He had wanted to protest that he wasn't staying in LA long enough to help them, and besides, Jack Thompson didn't _train puppies_. He thought back to his clean, blissfully uncrowded apartment in New York, but now it just seemed dull and empty. Running a hand through his hair, Jack realized that _everyone_ seemed to be in Los Angeles. There was nothing but an empty desk and plain office waiting for him in New York.

"You know," Jack said, "I think I'll take some vacation and stay here in LA."

Sousa looked up in surprise, but Peggy just smiled knowingly. "Los Angeles does seem to have that kind of effect on people, doesn't it?"

"It sure does," Jack admitted. As they watched the sunset together, Jack realized he didn't really miss New York quite as much anymore.


End file.
